


in my head i paint a picture

by wyverary



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, F/F, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, Lesbian Character, Stargazing, Trans Ben Hanscom, Trans Character, Underage Smoking, at this point i might as well just post this bc i dont know how 2 make it not be shit???, bens probably a lesbian also but its open 2 interpretation anyway shes Gay, i think the last thing i posted was a year ago lol, uhhhhhhhhh its some fuckin gay shit look out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverary/pseuds/wyverary
Summary: The stars have a funny way of making people tell the truth.





	in my head i paint a picture

**Author's Note:**

> hey everybody sorry idk how 2 write dialogue or metaphors or literally anything but ive been sitting on this for a bit & im ready 2 have fun also whats a book im a film canon bitch (except i think this is technically canon divergent shhhhh) 
> 
> uhhhhhhhhhhhh fuckin the title & general mood for this fic is valerie by amy winehouse & honestly it fits fite me  
> i love allusions 2 greek myths lol catch me in ap lit letting shakespeare fuck with me, also ben is the poetry lesbian we need & arent good enough for
> 
> im not a lesbian or a trans girl so like. let me know if the portrayals are bad

Ben’s hands are cold and shaking on her handlebars. She sees the orange glow of Beverly’s cigarette as she lounges on her rickety fire escape like a smalltown Juliet, and it makes her insides stir. Not in the worst way, but not pleasantly either. 

Bev is indescribable and sometimes it’s hard to believe she’s real at all.

As Ben pulls up, she finds herself thinking it would be better if she knew how to whistle, but she sees Bev’s head turn to look at her anyway. She wishes she knew what the look on her face meant.

It was two autumn nights ago she and Beverly had been laying on the roof of Ben’s puke-colored Range Rover, Ben pointing out constellations while Bev traced Ben’s skin with her cold fingers, when she got to Cassiopeia. Something about that constellation, a prideful queen holding fast to her seat, praying she didn’t fall into the void of the cosmos, made Ben’s skin itch with familiarity. She, too, felt like she was barely hanging on. Ben telling Bev about being a girl wasn’t part of the plan, but there was some satisfaction in being honest against the backdrop of the wide open sky. Ben cried and drove Bev home in silence, and then cried more. 

Ben didn’t feel any more free than anybody else in this town. Still, she couldn’t exactly say she felt trapped in her own body. She had never been 100% comfortable in it, for various reasons, and possibly never would be. Her problem was, no matter what she thought of the form she lived in, the people around her who didn’t understand would still go out of their way to make it a cage. The last straw would be Beverly being one of those people.

It was now Saturday and Ben needed some kind of reckoning, craved it like the moon craved the ocean enough to send it swirling as it held tight.

“Hey,” said Bev, flicking ash to the side. “Wanna come up?”

A moment passed where Ben just stared up, Shakespeare verses running fast through her head, before nodding and dropping her bike. Bev’s mouth flickered into a small smile. Ben clambered up the ladder to where Bev was perched against the brick of the apartment.

“I felt like we needed to talk. About the other night,” she said, running her hand through her sandy hair.

The stars were out again and Ben took her chance to sit beside Bev, the steel chilling her skin. 

“I feel bad that I kinda...sprung all that on you the other night,” said Ben. “Sorry for that.” 

“No, don’t feel bad, Ben,” said Bev. “I’m really glad you told me.”

“I get it if you don’t have...feelings for me, or anything...because of that.”

Beverly’s sharp breath caught Ben off guard.

“That’s the thing,” Bev sighed, stubbing out her cigarette. “I still do. Like you, I mean.”

“Even if I’m a girl?”

Bev paused. A few seconds passed before she continued. “After you told me, I had time to think about it, and you being a girl doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re so fucking important to me, you know that.”

In spite of herself, Ben felt a thread of warmth weaving itself through her chest.

Bev began to fidget with her jeans. “But the weird part is, I think I like you more...knowing you’re a girl. I mean, you always felt like something beyond all the other boys, if that makes sense...and I think that’s why I liked you--still like you.” 

A strangled laugh fell from Bev’s mouth. 

“Maybe this is too quick a judgment to make, but I don’t think I like guys at all.”

Bev spoke like telling Ben both took a weight off and suffocated her, an exchange of one risk for another. 

“I think I’m…” 

She didn’t finish.

“I know what you mean,” said Ben, taking Bev’s hand. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”

Beside her, Ben felt Beverly exhale in a rush. Ben noticed the rusty metal of the fire escape had warmed under their body heat.

“I still don’t understand what you see in me,” Bev murmured. Ben pulled her close, nose filled with the scent of ash and drugstore perfume.

It hurt Ben to just sit there, not saying a word, but she knew her friend (lover?) like she knew the smell of cardboard boxes and the way the shadows fall differently in houses you haven’t lived in. No matter how much she waxed poetic about fire and mercurial young love and the reliability of the seasons, if Beverly thought she was inadequate, the only thing Ben could do was hold her and promise to stay there. All Ben could do was hope Beverly felt their longing hearts intertwine.

The constant moving through states like a family on the run had thoroughly fucked up Ben’s sense of permanence. She’d always been somewhat haunted by the idea that whatever she grew to know would always end up in her rearview mirror. She’s lived in 24 states in her 17 years, and the only thing she can be grateful for is that her family hasn’t packed up their life in Derry yet. A sad thing to be grateful for, but still. That Beverly is still there shouldn’t feel like a surprise and Ben can’t help but feel guilty for what she’s gotten used to. 

Ben knows a lot of little things. She knows Bev is beautiful and definitely always will be. She knows that small towns are like broken glass waiting to be stepped on. She knows there are 88 recognized constellations including Ptolemy’s original 48, and Cassiopeia is just one out of a plethora of tragic women. She knows she’s a little in love with Dana Scully and the way she rolls her eyes at anyone and everyone. She knows Clinton’s in office and that you can’t trust any politician. She knows misfits like her and Beverly and their friends don’t get peace. She knows she wants to leave this shit town where the water is polluted with the blood of the kids nobody cared about. She knows it’s wishful thinking to say another move will solve all her problems for her. Most of all, though, she knows she’s never gonna stop feeling the things she feels, for Bev and for everything around her.

Ben presses her face into Bev’s hair. “I love you,” she says, not totally expecting an answer but not needing one, either.

“You, too.” 

Things aren’t perfect, but maybe if they just stay there on the fire escape until the sun comes up they’ll find their way home.

**Author's Note:**

> send me death threats @ 80swalkman on tumble


End file.
